


gimme sympathy

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Band Fic, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9539042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: come on baby play me something like here comes the sun --Cynthia and Severa unsuccessfully start a band. [secret santa 2016]





	

"Didn't you want this? Didn't you want to win?"

She's shaking in tulle and taffeta, cornflower blue stained with onyx ink. Sweat, grease, all of it culminates in streaks of disgusting in a dress more expensive than their shared apartment. There's a disconnect between the mascara dripping in chunks and eyeshadow, a silver cut crease. Severa can only look to the side, she wipes her dark hands on her leather jeans. Picks at the hem of her see through blouse. What else could she do, but stare. She almost wants to laugh, something haughty and broken and terribly out of character in this context. She wants to pull at her hair, chop off the long twintails, red and carmine, she wants it all off. She won't. She can't. Severa bites down on her lower lip, and Cynthia, she explodes.

Cynthia chokes out a sob and clenches her fists before swinging. The blow hurts less than the words, Severa doesn't move to dodge or return the favor in kind. She'll feel the bruise tomorrow, but for now, the blood vessels bloom purple-blue and her face throbs. Cynthia snarls in a way that is more relevant for Severa's creed, this is the finishing blow. She staggers back, one patent leather heel slips back and Cynthia pushes forward, jabs a gloved finger against Severa's chest. There's nothing else to do, or say, she can't come up with a single phrase or sentence construct that would make things better--it's not her fault. It's not her fault, she wants to say out loud, and make it real.

But that would be a boldface lie and even she can't do that. She will have to suffer with her bruised ego like the rest of humanity.

"Why are you taking this so lightly?!"

"I wanted to win more than you, goddamn it!"

Backstage is loud and cluttered and the tech assistants do not stop to watch the drama unfold. There's still so much to do, the night is still young, but the curtains come down for the both of them. The auditorium is a dark night behind the bright lights and stage cords that dictate the distance between. There's no second chance, or encore performance. Concrete tile looks like an abyss and Severa thinks, maybe this is what her mother felt like. This is what her beautiful, stupidly beautiful and perfect mother felt, on the stage to end all stages. An opera singer with lungs that finally went out. This is what happened, right, this has to be equivalent, _god_ , see mother, see? I can ruin my life just as well as you did. Don't you know, Severa clamps her mouth shut with ringed hands. She's going to puke. Someone finally tells Cynthia she needs to move, and Cynthia pulls at her hair, ruddy and brown, Severa hates her stupid hair, choppy and uneven, always in those stupid pigtails. God. _God_. (She doesn't hate it, she doesn't hate anything but it's so much easier to scream than to admit that you hate yourself).

"Fine! Fine!" Cynthia stomps away, pushes past an assistant with golden hair and cloudy eyes. Severa doesn't chase after her. She excuses herself and follows the masking tape line to the nearest exit.

What's done is done.  
"Did you do your best?"

  
She can hear her father's heavy accent against the steel door.

"Then there's nothing to cry about."

She breathes in, out. And then, pulls her hair up and turns on her heel.

Of course I didn't do my best!!! Fuck off!!!!! We're gonna do it again!!!!!

.

The offer comes with a question and a derisive scoff. A band? Severa has so many more promising opportunities hanging at her doorstep, and playing bass for some run of the mill girl band that would never make it out of a garage wasn't exactly her definition of fun. She has a date next week with a surly barista, and after that, a fashion show for an even surlier designer. Beruka is cute, and she has a nice expression when she's not frowning, which is granted, nearly one hundred percent of the time, and Nah's made her the piece de resistance of her show, so, like, Severa has it made for her. Honestly. A couple more years of working the crowd at debutante parties and she's bound to receive some award that'd outshine even her decorated mother. It'll be fabulous, Severa said at the bar, while Inigo flirted with the bartender. Absolutely, she said less convincingly, when Inigo managed to go home with someone that wasn't her and lead to her paying the full fare on the Uber back.

What was the point, really. If Inigo was going to talk his way into not paying for a rideshare, she would've just driven them to the bar.

Regardless. Cynthia comes to their shared kitchen table with a powerpoint presentation. She's wearing an old Saddle Club t-shirt that barely goes past her boobs and a pair of cut offs older than the mold growing on the windowsill. At least the sports bra functions in a manner that keeps her decent. Not that Severa cares. or minds. Or thinks anything of it at all. She doesn't let her gaze move from the fixed point between Cynthia's eyes. She's decided to lean forward and her bouncy hair nearly smacks Severa in the face. Okay, Severa will allow five minutes of her precious time to go to this. She's all ears.

"Do we have anyone but us?"  
"Well--"  
"No, right? How many people have you asked?"

Cynthia snorts.

"I've asked all the usual suspects!" She says this like it's an accomplishment. "Kjelle said she would be our bodyguard if it came to it."

They would have to be playing shows to need one of those, Severa doesn't tell her that, though.

"Nah said she'd love to be our manager! Come on, that's like already half the battle, right?"

"Not even close."

Severa snips and Cynthia doesn't let it bother her, Severa can see her working over time. Processing and redressing in a way that was more appealing.

"I asked Lucina! She said she would be willin' to play drums! And Noire, she said--"

Any interest in the conversation comes to a screeching halt.

"What did Noire say?"

Cynthia backtracks.

"I know, that, like, you and her aren't on the best terms right now--"

"Exes, dumbass. We're exes."

It goes quiet. It's still weird. Saying that. Saying the "e" word, after being so enraptured and enamored with the "g" word, as in, girlfriend. As in Noire from the city over with the terrified eyes and blonde hair and dark skin and penchant for heroes. It was obvious it wasn't going to work out. Severa didn't help old ladies cross streets, or come up with stupid catchphrases, and she sure as hell didn't not stop thinking about her ex-ex girlfriend who she was still definitely not hurting over, okay?

God.

"She said she didn't have time, but that if she did, she would've joined in a heartbeat!"

"For some reason, that sounds incredibly fake."

Severa puts her head down on the table, on top of the placemat and right next to the fork that she still hasn't washed. It's been there for the last week. She almost wants to ask Cynthia why she hasn't taken care of it by now, but that would be like tempting fate, or god, or something similar. Cynthia hasn't done laundry in two weeks. This fork was no one's priority. Kind of like how Severa wasn't.

Haha, zing.

That hurt a little.

"Okay it totally is, but listen, any good band just needs a bass and a guitar, and that's us! Severa, it was meant to be!" Cynthia's got a sparkle in her eye that would burst into flames if Severa didn't tread carefully.

Foresight wasn't her speciality.

"Implying I can still play. I haven't picked up the bass in years."

"But you will, right?"

Ah, shit. Cynthia's practically on the table. She's got her knees digging into silverware and one hand in front of the other, don't people know those kind of poses are frowned upon, god, some decency, maybe?

She averts her gaze. Cynthia's good as won. They both know.

"What do you want me to learn first." Is derisive, but it's enough. Cynthia whoops and cheers and runs to her room and takes out pages of sheet music and both of their instruments. They relocate to the living room after Severa peels off her hoodie and leans over lyric books with a pencil in her mouth. She has to adjust keys, she has to mess around with notes, but Cynthia doesn't let Severa's technicalities deter their progress. She twangs, loudly, and sings along as her fingers fumble with proper string positions. It's not until Severa threatens to gag her with an old sock they find under the sofa that Cynthia takes it a little more seriously. Her focused side is cute too. It's refreshing. It's not something she's thinking about. Severa pinches the bridge of her nose and Cynthia jabs her stomach with a pencil. Without the hoodie, the "HOT BICCH" crop top was in full view and Severa remembers why she hasn't left the house yet.

It takes all night before they can choose a song.

.

The streets are cold, and the weather's not any better. It looks like it's going to rain, and Severa hates it. With her hair pulled back, frizz shouldn't be an issue, but she inherited her father's locks and it was never fun being out in the humidity. She wants to complain about it some more, but she's a girl on a mission. She left a taxi for this.

"Cynthia! Where are you?"

She couldn't have gone far. Unless she took off her shoes. Or called a cab. Or her mom. Sumia would've flown across the world for Cynthia. Frederick would've probably torn the place apart if he heard his daughter was out in the city somewhere, roaming aimlessly and lost after a stupid argument. Phrasing it like that, Severa thinks as she skulks in an alleyway, was probably not making her side sound any better. Yeah, Severa messed up, what else was new. What didn't she completely ruin with her bad attitude and overly diligent work ethic in an attempt to fill the void left from not being hugged enough as a child. Or something similar to that. Ugh! So annoying. She walks faster, and breaks into a sprint. She could feel every blister forming on her feet, in between her toes. It was actually super gross. Squishy. She wants to die, to be completely honest, but she's not one for leaving jobs half finished. That's why she has to find Cynthia, She has to find her and apologize (God forbid) and they have to perform again. They have to. They'll play ' _gimme sympathy_ ' and if the judges won't let them have the stage again then Severa will just have to invoke the power of the Russian mob.

It's unfortunate, and someone will probably end up dead, but Cynthia deserves another opportunity. Severa just plays bass. she sings into the mic. She's secondary to Cynthia's drive, god she's always been. With every step into the cold, desperately wishing she had brought her coat along for the ride, Severa steels herself. she will have an iron bound resolve, and something sharper than her tongue. If she wanted to set things right, there's another corner she has to cut around, she had to find Cynthia--

"Cynthia!"

The tulle dress is half on, half off. She's got the stupid summer camp shirt on. Her gym bag's on the floor. It's going to get wet, Severa wants to say first, before realizing how stupid that would sound. Of course it would get wet. It's going to rain. The universe is in the process of raining. What kind of opening statement was that. Here's a girl who made the world follow her lead with a prayer and a killer backbeat, she's got a hollow expression and an even worse smile, those kinds that Severa's seen all too often on people she's broken up with.

"Oh, hey."

What does even mean?! Severa wants to lash out, I've spent the last two hours looking for you and you show up like an alleycat in front of our apartment with your stupid bag that I swore you left in the stupid theater! Couldn't you have changed inside, or something?! Are you stupid?! Why did you run away? I thought you jumped in front of traffic and I would have to speak at your funeral as the girl who fell in--

Fell...  
Into what, exactly?

"Hey yourself."

Severa sniffles. Cynthia looks to the side, embarrassed expression coupled with something wry and horrible. Knowing. No one should be able to look at Severa like that while wearing a Marchesa over sweatpants. Those are her sweatpants, mind you, Severa snaps back into attention.

"Look--"

They open their mouths at the same time, and Severa doesn't know why she ever thought she could talk her way out of this one. She lunges. Wraps her arms around Cynthia's neck and pulls her down to the ground, digs her knee in between her thighs, pins her designer dress to the asphalt. Cynthia screams the whole way down. There's a tangle of limbs and a formation of bruises that weren't going to fade for weeks, and Severa finally looks at Cynthia, really looks at her--round eyes and round cheeks and chapped lips.

"I'm sorry, okay?! I'm sorry for being a brat and for ruining your show and for forgetting the words and then walking out on you!"

Cynthia doesn't say anything. She's got her hand on the small of Severa's back, where there's no fabric to cover her spine. She feels everything there. Cynthia's nails dig until there's nothing else she can feel.

"I'm sorry, too."

It's not the answer she expected but it's the answer Cynthia would give.

"I shouldn't have asked you to join."

"But I wanted to--"

"It's not that."

The rain is cold. Probably. Dry cleaning is expensive. That is a certainty.

"I was stupid to think we would win, you know. I just wanted, to be able to sing with you. Like when we were kids. Without having to worry about anything in the world."

Cynthia smiles in the softest way, it makes Severa hurt and yearn and cave, everything falls out of sync and into place.

"I just wanted you to sing like you used to."

.

And she used to sing like her mother. Like her mother before the operation, before her lungs capsized and a miracle saved her life but not her voice. She used to sing like god.

Severa makes a noise that is nothing like gospel.

"Maybe this wasn't the best way of doing it."

.

They crawl into the same bed, wrapped in sheets and old clothes, and they really need to do laundry at some point. They lost. There's no Russian mob to threaten judges. Someone else will win the money and the glory. They will go unnoticed by the pages of history. It's not surprising, and it is not sad. There's a twinge of melancholy that strikes to kill, but Severa has always been good at avoiding bad news. She buries her face into the crook of Cynthia's neck.

"Did you say something?" She asks, and Severa shakes her head. She's thinking about the blinking light on her phone, the missed calls and messages. The fashion show weeks before and the date with Beruka two months prior. She's thinking about how she hasn't called back either establishment, and in the dark, with Cynthia's flickering horse nightlight dancing in the ether, she thinks she won't.

"No. Shut up and go to sleep."

She wanted to win, but she didn't want to win--she can't explain the paradox. But in Cynthia's arms, with the music still pounding in her ears, maybe she doesn't have to.

If Severa's song is from her own heart, like her mother crooned so many seasons ago, then why did the words come out of Cynthia's mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry olee im love u i hope u like girls fucking shit up
> 
> \-- angie @oceanblogging


End file.
